


All's Fair in Shipping and Fic War

by FrivolousSuits, TheSightlessSniper



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Suits (TV)
Genre: 101 percent chaos in a can, A Battle For The Ages, Allusions to blood-drinking, Alternate Universe, Blood Drinking, Drug Use, F/F, F/M, Hilarity, Implied Sexual Content, Liberties Taken With Canon Material, M/M, Sunnydale is officially now in New York, Vampire Slayer(s), Vampires, and a partridge in a pear tree, good luck, please don't throw eggs at Frivolous no matter how much she deserves it, possibly some violence, probably some tears, we are all going to need it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-10 10:13:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12297054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrivolousSuits/pseuds/FrivolousSuits, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSightlessSniper/pseuds/TheSightlessSniper
Summary: Inspired bythis tumblr post: a fic war between two authors, each writing one chapter at a time and attempting to push their tropes to victory.Thesightlesssniper is the champion of Marvey and a Buffy!AU. FrivolousSuits is battling for rareships and canonverse.Who will win? Only one way to find out!





	1. Opening Statement

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there, TheSightlessSniper here!
> 
> So...this is probably going to end horribly, but Frivolous and I are about to battle it out on the fanfic battlefield and see whose tropes will dominate. (That is not as kinky as it sounds, I swear.) There could be laughter, and some tears, and maybe a few ruined friendships, but hey, it's all going to be worth it to see what crack comes out of this.
> 
> So here is chapter 1 of our battle! We hope you enjoy the chaos!

Patrol was business as usual. Same shit, different day. See vamp? Slay it. Go to bed at four AM and try to be up in time to make sure the little sister doesn’t play hooky from her first class. Again.

The life of a Slayer wasn’t easy.

Buffy leaned against of the sturdier graves, twisting a stake between her fingers. ‘I’m bored…come out, little vampies. It’s time for a good ol’ stakin’.’

‘Somebody call me?’

That voice was all too familiar. ‘Spike, don’t you get bored of bugging me? No other vampires or vengeance demons around to play poker for kittens with?’

The bleach-blond leaned next to her on the grave, whipping a cigarette and a lighter out of his pocket and lighting up. He inhaled deeply before speaking. ‘Been there, done that already tonight, love. Got cleaned out by a new vamp in town. Bloody bastard didn’t even have to cheat.’

As he vocalised the last word, his coat pocket moved.

She frowned at his profile, eyeing between his face and the pocket on the other side of his jacket as it shifted of its own accord. A tiny black-and-white head popped out of the leather flap, whiskers twitching and mewing.

Raising an eyebrow, the nodded towards the small creature. ’Stole one back for breakfast?’

Spike shook his head and shrugged, pulling the tiny tom from his pocket and cradling it in one hand. ‘Told me to take the little bugger with me. Said it would taste awful anyway because it’s a Manx, then fled the scene with the rest of the bloody basket. I had two tabbies in there too. And the little ginger one would have been a treat with a vodka chaser.’

Buffy watched the two creatures interact, vague fascination surfacing. For all of Spike’s appetite for them, he did seem rather fond of his food. He let the kitten sniff at his face, nose twitching when it licked at his cheekbone affectionately, before holding it close to his chest once more with one pale, black-nailed hand and taking another deep drag from his cigarette.

He flicked the ash away before speaking. ‘If you slay a vampire called Harvey, make sure you use an extra-pointy stake.’

‘You think I ask their names before I slay them? “Hey, your name is Derek? Nice to meet you. Now die”?’

‘Thought you would have the courtesy to.’

‘Slay first, ask questions later.’

‘Forgot you like to leap before you look.’

‘Giles never did get that one out of me before he left.’

‘Bet he gave a bloody good try, though.’

They fell into companionable silence. Buffy’s watch ticked through the hour. Three-AM; another hour until nap-time.

 

‘Coco-Puff!’

The young woman’s face lit up gratefully as he handed her the tiny cat, eyes instantly falling half-lidded when she looked up at him through her lashes. ‘I’ve been so worried about him. Thank you, Mr…?’

‘Specter. Harvey Specter. And no need to thank me.’ The vampire shot her a grin, dripping charm from every pore. He already smelled faint traces of lust in her breath; she was definitely a possibility. He could sleep with her, get a decent meal, and leave her sleeping off the generous ‘donation’ all before sunrise. Besides the ‘love-bite’ she’d have for a few days, and the leftover groggy sensation from giving a him a pint of juice, no harm would be done; he always did like to leave his meals alive. It left much less room for Slayers to get stake-happy if nobody died.

The young woman in the doorway smiled flirtatiously, catching her lip between her teeth as she eyed him up and down. ’I’m so glad to have my baby back…is there any way I can repay you? Would you like to come in for a cup of coffee or something?’

‘Hm. That Something does sound kind of tempting.’

Her smile grew into a playful smirk. She leaned against the doorway. ‘You a liquor man?’

‘Exclusively.’

As she held the door open for him, the barrier of the threshold melted away; when he stepped up to it, nothing pushed him back. Silent consent; he was welcome in here for at least the next hour. Not that it would take that long; he’d never had any complaints about his prowess before.

He made to leave through the same doorway at three-forty-three, pausing to scratch behind the ears of the little rescued tabby. For all of the moaning Spike had done around the poker table about being a delicious treat, they just really weren’t his thing. Puppies tended to have a more classic taste; less like a Michelin-star experimental gastronomy dessert, more like the fine wine that would be paired with the cheeseboard in the evening.

Boy did he miss the taste of cheese.

Still, despite his distaste for sweet things, the kitten’s fur was luxurious. Maybe he should get one to keep around just for stroking.

The kitten turned up his nose at further attention, curling into a fuzzy puddle on the scatter pillow adorning the couch, and Harvey took that as his cue to leave.

Only when he went to open the door, it was already open, and he was face-to-face with a young man with staring bloodshot eyes.

The other couldn’t have been much older than mid-twenties, and from the smell, he imagined that was about right; the kid smelled like he’d had more than a few joints, and radiated alcoholic fumes that could have curdled fresh milk without even opening the carton.

His visual appearance, however—dark blond hair, bright blue eyes, slightly boyish soft features—was incredibly pleasing. Suddenly he wished he wasn’t quite so full; he could have really gone for drinking a little of this guy’s life liquor right about then.

The other swallowed thickly, blush rising up his face as he chuckled nervously. ‘Heh…uh, Lily didn’t tell me she was having anyone over.’

He nodded. ‘It wasn’t exactly a planned visit. I found her kitten—‘

‘Oh, okay…yeah, she loves Coco-Puff more than life itself. She’s missed him like crazy, and she’s been driving me crazy with her worrying about him. How did you find him?’

His mind presented him with the image of the basement room; three demons and two vampires sat around a table with a basket of pilfered infant felines mewing in the centre of the table for attention.

Elaboration was probably not the best of plans. ‘He was wandering around in the graveyard. Found him curled up by the door of one of the crypts,’ he lied smoothly.

The other frowned. ’He went that far? …Whatever. Thank you for bringing him back safe.’

‘No worries.’

It only occurred to him as he stepped through the threshold again, lock clicking closed behind him and invitation to the inside now expired, that he hadn’t asked for the man’s name. _Goddamn it_.


	2. Discovery

As Harvey turned the key in the lock of his apartment door, Holly Cromwell shifted on his pillow, opening her eyes momentarily before sinking back into sleep. Though she had a place of her own ten blocks uptown, she always seemed to rest better at Harvey’s apartment. Ever since the day they met, two young vampires abandoned by their sires and wandering the streets of Queens, they had followed each other from life to life, and they always had standing invitations into each other’s homes.

When Holly woke again, she found that Harvey had showered and changed into dark pants and was now holding a black T-shirt in his hands without moving to put it on. Instead, he stayed shirtless and supernaturally still, leaning against the doorframe and watching her, observing how the moonlight played on the sharp angles of her nose and the golden highlights in her hair. 

She rolled over to face him and propped herself up on an elbow. “You won your poker game, I assume?”

“Of course,” he smirked, “even without you stacking the deck.”

“What were the stakes?”

“Cats, which have now all been returned to their proper owners, except one.” Seeing her raised eyebrow, he explained, “I let the other vampire keep it. It’s a fun little group, and I don’t want to get banned for humiliating them too thoroughly.”

“Are you sure you’re not in love with Louis Litt? Because saving kittens from bloody death sounds perfectly calculated to steal his heart.”

He chuckled. “I assure you that crush is one-sided.”

“And yet,” Holly teased, “you didn’t even take a sip of these kittens.”

“Why bother when the owner was so much more delicious?” he said with a shrug and a slightly naughty smile. “And how was your night with the high rollers?”

“Turns out Tony’s been colluding with Lyra Financial for the past five years. An anonymous tipoff will arrive gift-wrapped with proof on the SEC’s doorstep tomorrow at 9–”

“Which gets Gianopolous off Sidwell’s back in time for the board meeting,” Harvey finished, eyes widening. “I didn’t find anything on that bastard for a month, and you get that in one week?”

She grinned. “I’m good.”

“And now  _ I’m _ going to destroy him, once and for all.” Even as he plotted Tony Gianopoulos’ imminent ruin, his voice softened, and he gave her an unguarded smile. 

This was their pattern. This was their game. After decades of flitting from one place to another, they had circled back to New York, now as king and queen of corporate Manhattan, not that any outsider could link them. 

Harvey Specter was an excellent liar– vampires don’t survive otherwise– yet he had an appreciation for ethics born from his mother’s infidelity, branded into his memory from his human days. Those qualities combined now to make him an outstanding, if not always upstanding, corporate lawyer. Holly Cromwell was an excellent liar as well, and from her childhood with an abusive, alcoholic stepfather she had learned how to choose her words wisely and when to keep her mouth shut. Now, she presented herself as a headhunter, but she chose exclusively male clients and seduced them and stole their secrets. 

The two of them showed the outside world their poker faces. They misdirected and misled. They sometimes lied outright to the titans of industry surrounding them. Holly passed Harvey off-the-books information. Harvey passed Holly off-the-books legal advice.

They never lied to one another.

“Did you get to taste Gianopolous?” Harvey asked.

She nodded. “His blood’s even more bitter than you predicted.”

He grimaced. “Regardless, I’m surprised you made it here tonight.”

“The night finished early–” she rolled her eyes– “by which I mean  _ he _ finished,  _ very _ early.”

Harvey’s eyebrows jumped up at that. “So you’ve been trying to sleep, all alone and unsatisfied?”

She raised her eyebrows in return. “I find myself in a troubled situation.”

“Turns out I specialize in troubled situations,” he said right on cue as he stepped forward, discarding the shirt and joining her in bed. With one smooth motion she moved to straddle him, curling one hand around his neck and one in his hair. She leaned in close and breathed him in. 

“You smell delicious,” she remarked. “Did you have a particularly fine meal?”

“That’s the meal I should have had,” he said, “unfortunately not the one I did.”

“What’s this missed meal’s name?” she whispered while pressing kisses to his jawline and inhaling the still-lingering scent.

“Hell if I know.”

“Tell me about her?”

“Him,” Harvey moaned as she slipped one hand onto his chest and lower still. “Oh, you would have loved him. Blond hair, the face looks like a kid’s, the body definitely doesn’t–” he reached his hands up her nightgown and ran them up and down her the smooth expanse of her back– “and he’s so fresh, Holly, so innocent–”

“You should have brought him for a midnight snack,” she murmured. “Would you like that, Harvey?”

“Mmm” was all the response she received.

“We could share, surely.”

She imagined this nameless boy in bed with them as he told her more about his blond hair and soft features, as they wondered how his skin would smell and how his veins taste if he spent one night in their bed, as they danced around the question of siring a vampire of their own and keeping him for every night to come.

* * *

 

Rachel Zane cut a slice of the new Stilton cheese she found at a farmer’s market and bit in, savoring the creaminess and the sweet, chewy fruit. She moved to cut a second slice and spread it on her toast for breakfast–

_BANG!_ _BANG!_

Startled, she laid the knife down on her tray and opened the door. A young man with chaotic blond hair, bloodshot eyes, and an unfortunate aura of alcohol stood outside, raising his hand to knock again.

“Rachel,” he panted, dropping his hand, “I’m sorry about the hour, I just didn’t know where else to go–”

“Come on in,” she answered at once.

“Is he in? I don’t want to distract him–”

“Don’t worry about him, he’s on a case,” she assured him. “What happened to  _ you _ ?”

“Contrary to expectations, I managed to make my life even more of a wreck,” he said, following her inside. “I don’t suppose you can treat a hangover?”

“I’ll get you water and Advil,” she replied. “But I didn’t think hangovers were really your style.”

“They’re not, but I spent the night with Lily– you remember Lily?”

“I remember too well,” Rachel groaned as she set the pills and a glass of water in front of him. “Is she still trying every drug known to man?”

“Yes, that’s her.”

“Please tell me you didn’t sleep with her again–”

“No, no,” he said, shaking his head violently, “I just did everything else.”

“What . . . What do you mean by ‘everything’?”

“I tried pot–”

“Oh god.”

“–and I mixed it with, I don’t know, maybe four shots of vodka? And then she started crying because her lost cat came back, and then I started crying too, and I think that’s when my contacts fell out, and I tried to put them back in, but I missed and I nearly scratched my own eye out.”

Rachel buried her face in her hands. “Why don’t you stick to glasses?”

“I have 20/20 vision, I just wore the contacts to look cool. I thought maybe they’d help me see life anew, rediscover my purpose.”

“I think maybe you should stick to wearing them with your anime cosplay,” Rachel muttered, but he didn’t seem to hear.

“And then I added pills to the mix–”

“What pills?” she squawked.

“My Claritin? I don’t know how it reacts with all the other stuff, but I had to take twice the normal dose to put up with her dogs, even before the cat showed up. And then I ran out and I went out to get more, but I forgot how to call an Uber, so then I tried to use the subway and somehow ended up on Staten Island–”

“That’s not even possible,” she said, but he forged right on.

“And then by the time I came back a new guy was coming out of Lily’s apartment, and I think they had sex. Can you believe that? And he was twenty times prettier than she ever was.” He flopped over onto the counter with a sigh. “How come she gets the pretty guys? How come I can’t get someone that great? Why can’t I get _anything_ in my life to work out?”

“Hey,” Rachel said, laying a hand on his back. “You’re a great guy. I know it hurts, not working as a lawyer anymore, but we’re going to get you back on track.”

As soon as she turned away, a scheming glint appeared in her eye.

* * *

Rachel strode through the door of the Pearson Hardman filing room and found Mike Ross, devoted paralegal, right where she expected. Around him were sprawling stacks of boxes, all filled to the brim with the files Pearson Hardman had received as part of discovery in a particularly complex suit. He had been stuck looking through the files for fifteen hours and counting.

“Hey,” she said, placing a can of Red Bull and a bag with his favorite croque monsieur sandwich by him, “I brought supplies.”

He looked up at her with exhausted but adoring eyes. “You’re an angel.”

As he took the sandwich out and started to devour it, relishing the delicious ham and hot cheese, she took a paper from the folder in her other hand and placed it on top of the file he was reading.

Mike scanned it for a second before remarking, “I take it back, you’re actually a demon.”

“This is taking more of a toll than either of us expected,” Rachel protested. “Alcohol, drugs, crazy ex-girlfriends . . . We can’t let it go further.”

He glanced down at the paper. “But what am I supposed to do with a resume? I’m not a recruiter, I don’t know any open positions–”

“But I do. Now that Harvey Specter’s made senior partner, he needs a personal associate. And I was thinking–” she casually tucked a curl behind her ear, trying to pretend she hadn't thought this proposal out forwards and backwards– “you could sneak up to Donna’s desk and slip this into the pile of resumes she’s already got.”

“But you’re the one Donna likes!”

“That’s why I’m not doing this,” she retorted. “I’m not risking Donna’s ill will when I could sacrifice you instead.”

He glared at her for a good five seconds before breaking out into chuckles. “This is actually very sweet. But are you sure Harvey’s really a good personality match? I mean, from everything I know about him he’d be a terrifying boss.”

“He can’t be as inhuman as he seems, can he?”

Mike shrugged. “Maybe, but I’ll give this a shot anyway.”

Rachel smiled at him and then leaned down for a quick kiss. “We can fix anything, the two of us.”

“Don’t I know it.” He grinned as she strode away, counting his lucky stars that he had Rachel Zane for a fiancee.

* * *

Harvey Specter, a newly promoted senior partner at Pearson Hardman, one of the top full-service corporate law firms in New York, paced around a room in the Chilton Hotel, utterly bored by his associate interviews. Though he was nearly done with his appointments, he still hadn’t found any candidates he could possibly put up with, and he was half-tempted to tell Jessica he didn’t want an associate at all. Being a vampire increased his stamina– surely he could just do all the work himself?

Then the fragrance hit.

Eyes snapping up, he dashed to the door, opened it and found Donna scolding a young man with blond hair and boyish features. She was insisting that he didn’t deserve an interview when he was already five minutes late–

“It’s fine, Donna, we can make an exception.”

Donna looked at Harvey curiously but waved the young man through.

Harvey resisted the urge to salivate as the same delicious, ambrosial smell wrapped around him, as he feasted his eyes on the same soft features that had fascinated him last night. Not quite the same, though– the stranger’s eyes had turned from bright blue to a softer green-gray. Perhaps contact lenses were at play?

“Oh no,” the young man stuttered, “did we meet . . .”

“We did,” Harvey said, his voice low like a purr. “You made a memorable first impression.”

“I– I assume this means I’ve already lost the job.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” he chuckled, reaching out a hand. “I’m Harvey Specter.”

As the young man inhaled deeply, took his hand, and gave it a firm shake, Harvey found himself aching with  _ want _ – hunger, lust, and love all blending into a heady burst of desire. It was the same storm of emotion he felt that night he found Holly, the same certainty that he had stumbled on someone special, a soulmate. He felt the same drive to grab on and never let go.

“Nice to meet you,” the young man said, “I’m Harold Gunderson.”


	3. Misfiled, or Intentionally Buried?

It was rare that Spike would dare venture out during daylight hours. When he did, it was either an emergency, like unpaid debts with demons and otherworldly creatures, or he was feeling particularly masochistic. And he got enough masochistic satisfaction from his unrequited crush on the Slayer, so that was the last thing he needed.

Still, at least it wasn’t the middle of the day. The warmth prickling at his skin under the oversized hood wasn’t as hot and painful as it could have been, and the trail of smoke following him was drowned out by the steady stream coming from another cigarette.

When he finally reached the magic shop, he flicked the smouldering cigarette butt through the door, tugged the hood down and slammed the door behind him, earning a startled squark from the young woman sat at the table at the centre of the room.

Willow leapt up, book still clutched in hand. ’Spike! You scared me!’

‘I was hoping to find you, Redhead. I need you to do a little spell for me and locate some sodding vampire for me.’

From behind the till, Tara’s eyes flicked between them. ‘Why are you trying to find another vampire?’

‘First, he beat me in a poker game. And now we have some business to attend to. For starters—‘ the bleach-blond vampire delved into his pocket, gracelessly tugging free the feline from the previous night. ‘This buggering thing nearly got me killed, and I want the vamp I won it from to deal with the consequences himself.’

Willow stepped closer, scooping the tiny creature from his hands. ‘Aww, it’s so cute and fuzzy.’

‘Not when it nearly gets me killed, it bloody isn’t. First thing this morning, one of Anya’s ill-conceived demon buddies barges into my crypt and demands to have it. I say no. Next thing, I hear the sound of sawing wood and find the son of a bitch giving my coffin a sun-roof. The bloody thing has been thieved, and now I’m taking the brunt of the blame.’

Tara rounded the counter, stepping over to where they were stood. ‘Who did you get it from?’

‘Some vamp called Harvey. Right snob who won an entire basket of tabbies, tuxedos, and a few gingers last night, and decided to leave me with this little good-for-nothing runt.’

Willow raised an eyebrow. ‘Why don’t you give it back?’

He wasn’t about to admit he’d already grown attached to the little git. ’…It’s good company when you’re watching bad tv.’

He watched the two women glance between each other, unable to hear the silent conversation passing between their eyes. He’d heard Willow was trying to cut down on the magic, but right now, he really didn’t care.

He just wanted to get this sorted, and be on his merry way until feeding time.

Willow must have won the silent argument; she placed the kitten down on the surface of the table, murmured a few words, and a glowing circle formed around the animal, with an arrow pointing somewhere in the direction of the back of the Magic Box’s east wall.

He thumbed towards the wall. ‘He’s outside?’

Willow shook her head. ’No, no the kitten is like a…a compass. This other vampire must have handled it a lot because it’s showing where he is right now.’

‘East…probably somewhere in Manhattan?’ Tara chimed in.

The compass circle faded. The kitten stared up at him, blinking its eyes widely, and he tucked it away once more, feeling the pressure of it curling up against his leg inside the pocket. _Looks like it’s time to take a trip into Manhattan_.

 

The kid before Harvey still smelled as delectable and looked as endearing as he had the previous night; so few were as appealing in the daytime as they were in the evening light. But even so, with no drugs masking him, no alcoholic tinge to his scent, it was apparent now; he smelled divine, but something was different.

Whatever the difference, it hadn’t changed his disposition at all; Harold was clearly a nervous wreck from the inside out, shifting from foot to foot before him like he was about to pee his pants.

Harvey beckoned him into the seat before him, gesturing to Donna to leave them be, and waited until the door clicked closed to begin. ‘You made an impact last night.’

The other turned a furious shade of red under his gaze, clearly trying to not look away from his scrutinising stare. ‘I don’t do pot, I swear. It was the first time I’d ever even touched a joint, and I didn’t even like it that much but kept smoking it because someone said it would make me relax.’

‘And instead it made you paranoid enough to drink to calm down?’

‘I guess. Oh god, please don’t call the cops on me.’

Harvey waved a hand, seemingly to brush the idea off. In reality, the kid’s overwhelming smell was starting to get to him, and he wanted to get him in and out of the room before he got worked-up enough to take a bite; he was suddenly ravenous.

He gestured to the folder in front of him, pushing it in front of the young man. ’All I need is for you to do is show me what you can do with this example case here. What’s being done right, what’s being done wrong, what could be improved. Get to work.’

 

He needed a drink, and he needed it to be a large one.

Mike sank down on the opposite side of the counter, immediately homing in on the fresh bottle of scotch open between them. ‘I take it you didn’t hire Harold.’

‘I did not,’ came the flat reply. Harvey had been acting cagey all afternoon following the interviews, not even reacting to some of his less-than-stellar-but-still-perfectly-acceptable impersonations of Rocket Raccoon when they’d discovered one of the client’s names was Mr. G. Root. ‘I take it that it was you that slipped the resume into the stack?’

He nodded and nudged the bottle towards him. ‘He’s a good kid. He deserves a chance.’

‘Maybe, but not here. Get him into a courtroom, I’d be surprised if he didn’t wet himself before even sitting down at the table,’ the other shot back, knocking back what was in his glass and refilling it immediately with shaky hands. Another sign something was wrong; Harvey rarely drank scotch like a shot he wanted to forget as soon as possible.

Once upon a time, Harvey had almost hired him. He’d been impressed by his eidetic memory, and his raw enthusiasm for law, but at the time, Mike had been missing one vital thing that would have put him at the top of the list; he’d only been six months into his studies in college—not even law at that point; he’d been doing his bachelors degree at the time—and hiring him could have put them both into a whole world of trouble if someone had caught on.

When he’d finally finished school, Jessica Pearson had hired him as a paralegal herself, saving him from the supposed tyranny that was Boss Harvey Specter and instead allowing him to become a friend. Even if getting Harvey to admit that fact, or that anything was weighing him down, or anything to do with emotions and caring whatsoever, was like trying to draw blood from a stone.

Mike gazed across the countertop earnestly. ‘You know this whole caring thing means that you can unload your problems onto me and not necessarily have to admit you actually care about me for me to still give a shit, right?’

‘Mike—‘

‘I’m just saying. You seem like you have a load on your mind. And I’m here if you need to unload.’

It was strained, but Harvey gave him a small smile. He would tell him the problem in time. As much as he hated to admit it, even Harvey Specter needed someone to vent his problems to.

As he left a few hours later, he didn’t miss the sound of a low growl, and glass shattering against the wall from within. _What’s going on with you, Harvey?_

 

He didn’t necessarily have to sleep, but Harvey really wished at that moment that he could sleep through whatever had him under its hold.

Another scotch in hand, and alone in the condo, he nursed the glass as he paced up and down the room, ignoring the shards still littering the floor from his previous drink. He could still smell that kid Harold in the air as if he had actually been in the condo, the pungency of his flavour almost suffocating. His features twitched, threatening to morph into his vampiric mask; the last time he’d craved blood this badly, he’d been a fledgeling, barely a few hours since he’d been turned and seeking that first meal.

Darla had purposely held him back from that first hunt to see how vicious he could become without feeding. His first kill was his last, and he hadn’t taken a life since.

When Mike had been sat opposite him, following him up to the condo despite Harvey stating that he’d wanted to be in peace—which usually involved Mike and him talking and chilling out up there anyways, so he couldn’t really blame him for not taking the hint this time—he’d been on the cusp of breaking his rule and sucking the other’s body dry of every last drop pulsing through his veins. And it would have been a good meal, too; Mike might not have been quite the same as the kid from the other night, but he had always thought he’d smelled delightful…like perfectly cooked fillet steak with butter and shallots.

At the thought, his fangs broke through, his face mutating and hands shaking violently. The drink in the glass spilled over the rim and splattered to the hardwood floor at his feet, pooling and soaking into his socks. _So is this what it’s like for drug addicts looking for a fix?_

Holly had left a note stating that she wouldn’t be around for a while, and her ‘while’ could mean anything from a few weeks to eleven months. He had nobody he could turn to about this. He was completely alone, aching with hunger, and getting more desperate by the minute. _Shit…someone help me…_

 

Rachel was already asleep by the time he got back to the apartment, something Mike was grateful for. He kicked off his shoes at the door, chewing his lip with nerves. He had to find out what was going on with Harvey, and the last person he needed to see him doing this was his fiancée. He remembered how—of course he did—but it was whether he could still call it forth like he used to be able to that was going to be the real trick.

Stepping up to the bookshelf, he let out a slow sigh, and reached underneath it, fumbling for the ventilation hatch that housed the small box.  When it was free, and he pulled the wooden lid off, the slightly stale smell of old herbs and incense emanated from the contents. It was the last thing he still kept well-guarded about himself, because there was no way that Rachel would understand if she found out.

How many people in the world would want to know they were engaged to a male witch?

He hesitantly closed his eyes, focusing on the crystal in his hand and the power flowing through it. As if it was reaching out to him, the tendrils of power tickled the tips of his fingers, flooding through his fingerprints into his nerves. It was like an old friend; different to how he remembered, but familiar in so many ways.

He let out a quiet sigh of relief, smiling. Oh yeah…he still had it. ‘Okay, Harvey…time to find out what you’re hiding.’


	4. Countersuit

Reassured, Mike squeezed the crystal once before readying his other supplies. He arranged herbs before him in the same patterns he remembered so well, and he lit his candles and a stick of incense. Then he began his incantations.

The magic came in a rush, and Mike inhaled the power and the incense’s heady white smoke. Gripping the crystal tightly, he fed his spell a burst of power, then another, pressing back hard against the odd resistance he felt. With every burst of power, the candles flickered and sputtered before steadying once more and glowing even brighter. His magic gathered strength as the smoke circled up faster, thicker around him-

_SCREECH._

Mike broke off with a curse as the apartment’s fire detector began squealing. Immediately, he blew the candles out and started stuffing his magical paraphernalia back into the box, even while he heard Rachel calling for him, her voice growing louder as she approached-

“Mike?” she says, panic fading to confusion when she found him, still surrounded by piles of herbs.

“Um.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah? Yeah, there’s no fire.”

“I’ll go hit the circuit breaker.”

He nodded mutely and sat frozen in place, grasping for reasonable explanations. “I was attempting to destress through aromatherapy.” “I’m experimenting with alternative religious practices.” “I’m thinking of starting a perfumery.”

“You know-” Mike’s heartbeat spiked again as she materialized before him once again- “I always heard divination rituals work better outside.”

“I, um, what?”

“I’m guessing you’re a witch. Not that surprising, since your magical aura’s powerful enough to feel half a block away,” she remarked, taking a seat beside him and rifling through the herbs and the contents of the box.

“You’re . . . not surprised I’m a witch.”

“Not particularly. Never thought this is how I’d find out, though.” Rachel shifted closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Are _you_ a witch?”

“No,” she said with a small sigh. “But I’ve been able to sense auras long as I can remember. Not specific information, but I get a feel for raw power.”

He turned to look at her and released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as he met her warm, smiling eyes. “Let me get this right. You just found out you’re engaged to a witch, and you’re _not_ running out the door.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she chuckled. “No matter how much my dad protests.”

“Your dad?”

“Listen, we both have a lot to talk about,” she said, stifling a yawn, “but it’s nearly midnight, and I have an early teleconference with Darby’s London office, so I think we should table this discussion for tomorrow night.”

Fighting off a yawn himself, Mike agreed, and they shuffled off to bed. He curled up close to her and fell asleep smiling, free of a secret heavier than he had ever admitted.

The box and herbs remained on the floor, waiting.

* * *

It was nearly twelve- the start of the night, as far as Harvey was concerned.

Bringing his breathing back under control, he cleaned up the spilled scotch and changed to go out. Within an hour, he was in some strange woman’s bed, teeth buried in her skin. She was lovely enough on the outside, but her blood tasted blander than water. Still, he forced himself to drink, to take the edge off his maddening hunger.

He left while she was sleeping and returned to his apartment, thirst reduced to a manageable scratch in his throat, before pulling out the second phone he had long since reserved for calling Holly. He refused to call before, in his frenzy- he wouldn’t want her abandoning her own work to dote on him like a babysitter- but now he pressed the button.

She picked up almost immediately. “Harvey?”

“Wasn’t sure if I’d reach you,” he said. “I thought you might be on a plane by now.”

“I’ve got a ticket to Heathrow, but I’m not departing until I gather more intel. In the process, I heard something that concerns you-”

“Oh?”

“- not that I’ll actually say what.”

Harvey smirked. “Why the tease?”

“You should know something’s coming, but I think an honest reaction to the specifics will help you out.”

He frowned at her wording. “Am I about to be in trouble?”

“Next question?”

With a sigh, he surrendered and switched topics. “You know the misdirection spell we set up to confuse scryers? Mine’s gotten pinged twice in the last day.”

“Interesting. Well, it might be clear that you’re in Manhattan, but the spell will keep trackers from getting any closer,” Holly mused. “I should thank Lola once again.”

She was referring to Lola Jensen, one of their favorite secrets. A trained scientist by day, she spent her nights dabbling in cutting-edge witchcraft and using Columbia’s not insignificant laboratories to research magic. Holly paid her generously, both with money and access to unusual magical resources, and in return Lola had developed spells that allowed her and Harvey to survive daylight and to thwart divination attempts.

Her delicious blood and fearlessness in the bedroom were merely icing on the cake.

“Is that where you are tonight?”

“Mm-hmm. I wanted her advice on my latest job.”

“Just business, hm?” he teased. “I’m sure you’ll make some time for pleasure.”

“Sorry I didn’t invite you along, but I thought you might appreciate some rest after yesterday’s game.”

“I’ll survive on my own,” Harvey assured her, smiling slyly. “Especially since I rediscovered the snack I should have had last night.”

“Oh?”

“Harold Gunderson is an ex-associate from Wakefield’s litigation department, and he stumbled into my interviews this afternoon.”

“I assume you didn’t hire him.”

“Louis has a monopoly on harassing associates, I’m not about to muscle in,” he snorted. “On a more serious note, he’s not a polished speaker yet, and I end up in court way too often to deal with that.”

“I pulled up his LinkedIn,” Holly said at once. “He’s only been practicing six months, he could leave litigation entirely.”

“You have an idea?”

“I’ve heard Bratton’s looking to beef up their M&A division. And their associate program’s considered almost as miserable as Pearson Hardman’s- he’ll never see a courtroom or boardroom or anything other than a pile of briefs for his first four years. That’s plenty of time for him to improve his stage presence.”

“And in the meantime-”

Holly gave a knowing laugh. “Enjoy yourself, Harvey.”

* * *

 Harvey stood by his office window, stared out at Manhattan skyline, overshadowed by stormclouds, and dreamt once again of moving to California. It wasn’t the weather that appealed to him- though he could survive in sunlight, he still didn’t enjoy it- so much as the fact that California’s bizarre bar rules allowed clients to consult their lawyers about illegal activity _beforehand_ , not only afterwards when Harvey caught them moving the body.

“Harvey,” Donna said over the intercom.

“Jonathan-” Harvey whipped around to see Jonathan Sidwell, the head of a boutique investment bank that specialized in technology and media- “perhaps you’ve already heard. The SEC was just tipped off that Lyra’s M&A advisors were feeding Tony inside info on the Gillis deal, which means he won’t dare touch the deal.”

“That’s wonderful news-” Jonathan’s smile fell as he caught sight of Harvey’s thunderous expression- “isn’t it?”

“It would be, except you’re not touching the deal either.”

“Why?”

“Because I just got a call from Sean Cahill, who’s received evidence from Tony that _you_ were colluding with Lyra, back when you were still working for Tony. Looks like you were the first link between Gionopolous and Lyra, and Sean’s guessing you’ve gotten more info from Lyra for this deal, and I have to say he makes a compelling case.”

He leaned back against his desk and scrutinized his reaction, the widened eyes, the blinking- _interesting_. As Jonathan, usually poised and eloquent, scrambled to stutter out a response, Harvey started to wonder if he was somehow innocent.

“First off,” Jonathan said, “I avoid those bastards at Lyra like the plague. I don’t know what case Cahill thinks he has, but it’s built on air.”

“And yet he’s asking to question you tomorrow.”

“What about?”

“About the extravagantly profitable trades you executed for Tony regarding-” Harvey glanced at the notes from his conversation with Sean- “Verres Oil, Clarity Industries, and Auster & Co.”

Jonathan stares at him momentarily before huffing out a laugh. “I didn’t need inside information to make any of those calls.”

“And yet you acted as if you knew about announcements and market movements that happened as much as six months later,” Harvey deadpanned.

“I could see how things would turn out even without crossing ethical lines-“

“The precognition argument didn’t work for Ivan Boevsky, and it’s not working for you-”

“I’m not saying that _I_ magically predicted the future,” Jonathan cut in, scowling. “I’m saying my algorithm did.”

Harvey narrowed his eyes. “Your _algorithm_ chose these trades.”

“Yes.”

“Donna, get me an engineer-to-human translator-”

“I already called one up.”

Mike Ross entered his office moments later, shooting Harvey a curious look as he no doubt replayed last night’s drama in his mind. Harvey answered him with a professional smile and briskly introduced him to Jonathan- “this is Mike Ross, paralegal and our in-house math expert”- even while inhaling to check that Mike’s scent wouldn’t drive him out of his mind again. Indeed, neither Mike’s scent nor Sidwell’s, an even more luscious blend of caramel and salt and fine chocolate, tipped him into yesterday’s frenzy.

His all-encompassing hunger had softened and sharpened, focusing exclusively on his original prize, and neither Michael Ross nor Jonathan Sidwell would do. Though he wouldn’t mind taking a sip from Jonathan’s veins and indulging his sweet tooth-

“Harvey.” Mike’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Are you following?”

“Jonathan’s algorithm is fundamentally a series of instructions on how to take in information about a company and the broader market,” Harvey repeated without missing a beat, “and process it to make predictions about the future.”

“Right,” Jonathan said, nodding eagerly, “I’ve been refining the instructions nonstop ever since undergrad, and I used their outputs to predict that Verres and Clarity and Auster would all pay off.”

“So,” Harvey said, “we can just hand over the algorithm to SEC, show that it made those predictions, and cut any collusion allegations off at the head. It’s simple.”

* * *

It wasn’t simple.

Jonathan Sidwell still had his old code, but apparently he couldn’t read it anymore. How someone could personally write a program and then not understand it was beyond Harvey, but Jonathan insisted it was the result of the sophisticated obfuscation techniques he had applied to protect his work from Tony’s prying.

“The main obfuscation technique is his own programming style,” Mike whispered to Harvey at one point. “He’s raised disorganization to an art form . . .”

Harvey left Mike with Jonathan to untangle the code well enough to explain it to the SEC, and he set out himself to tackle the second half of their quandary- a distinct lack of the data they needed to feed into the program to replicate its previous results. Jonathan’s investment bank did little work in of the sectors that had primarily interested Tony, and so he no longer collected the same sorts of data that he had used to trade Verres, Clarity and Auster.

Which is why Harvey was now calling every other trader who owed him a favor, ~~begging for~~ sternly demanding access to a trading database.

* * *

Harvey returned to the office, cursing Wall Street and its precious proprietary data.

“Any luck?” Mike asked, looking up from his laptop with bloodshot eyes.

“None. How is the code going?”

“We understand about fifty percent of what I wrote,” Jonathan reported with a sigh. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to call into the office, make sure it hasn’t burned down in my absence.”

Reaching for his cellphone, he left the room. Harvey took a seat and closed his eyes, scowling.

“There’s another angle here,” he muttered.

“Benjamin?”

“No,” Harvey snorted. “I’m not about to get illegal info for a client to prove he didn’t have illegal info.”

“Okay, back to the drawing board,” Mike said, clapping his hands together. “I need to comment this code so it makes sense again. That’s doable, it just takes time. You need access to data that established financial firms have, but said firms aren’t handing over their secrets. That’s the real roadblock.”

Something clicked.

“. . . Unless we find someone who has the data but isn’t a firm.”

Mike cocked his head, curious. “Are you thinking of an individual investor?”

“I’m thinking of someone who doesn’t give a damn one way or the other about finance, but is interested in organizing massive amounts of data, potentially for open-source projects.”

Mike’s jaw fell. “Wyatt.”

“Wyatt,” Harvey repeated. “He told me he was looking into taking down Wall Street as a hobby- I’ll give him a call and see how his ‘disruption’’s going.”

* * *

 The plan worked. He was Harvey Specter- it wouldn’t dare do otherwise.

Harvey called Wyatt, obtained the data, and was out of the office and in his car by 7, hours before any of the associates could even think of leaving.

“Not home,” he told Ray. Instead, he read off an address from a crisp, white resume.

* * *

 “Mr. Specter?” Harold exclaimed upon opening his apartment door. To his credit, he pulled himself back together after only a second of gawping, straightening up and looking Harvey straight in the eye. “What are you doing here?”

“There’s one thing I want to say right off. I’m sorry I couldn’t hire you as my own associate, but given the matters I handle I went with someone with trial experience.” A perfectly true statement, since he finally decided on the lawyer who came in right after Harold, an ADA named Katrina Bennett. “That said, the rest of your resume’s impressive, between your law review experience and the Sears Prize, and I think you’d have great success in a different sort of position.”

Harold promptly asked, “Do you have something in mind?”

 _Ha. So he does have some backbone after all_.

“I do,” Harvey said with a smirk, “which is why you’ve got an email from Alex Williams sitting in your inbox right now, asking you to come interview for Bratton.”

“That’s generous of you.”

Harvey grinned at his clear shock. “A surprise, I know. Common wisdom would say I’m a heartless bastard.”

“Well, common wisdom doesn’t know up from down.”

Harvey raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure about that?”

“Heartless bastards don’t rescue lost cats,” Harold said. “And they don’t let screw-ups interview for a job the night after seeing them high and drunk.”

As he spoke, a rosy blush crept across his cheeks.

“Hey-” Harvey spoke, and Harold’s eyes widened, so gentle and mild- “I want you to understand that your interview at Bratton’s not going anywhere, regardless of what happens next.”

“Why, what’s happening next?”

He shrugged, surprised when the gesture turned out more tender than cavalier. “Let’s just say there’s some advantages to us _not_ working together.”

Harvey half-expected him to frown or stutter in confusion, but instead Harold tilted his head, a sly smile in his eyes. “You mean Pearson Hardman’s interoffice romance ban?”

“Perceptive.”

“Wow.”

“What?” Harvey tensed, half-expecting to be slapped or have the door slammed in his face.

Instead, Harold surprised him again and threw the door open. “Come on in.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” he murmured under his breath before following Harold in.

* * *

He was delicious, and not only in the way Harvey had expected.

Harvey took his time. Slowly, he explored the chasm between Harold’s innocent looks and stuttering tongue and the _creative_ mind underneath. He licked the milky skin stretched over his veins. He inhaled deep, nose pressed against Harold’s throat, breathing in the scent of the artery just below, reveling in the thirst that thrummed deep within him- still mad and painful, but with its own tantalizing pleasure as he held back and denied himself and stretched himself thin. He twisted his hand in Harold’s blond hair and tugged his head back sharply to further expose his throat-

And then drew back in surprise as Harold let out a sudden moan.

“Something I should know?”

“I- um.”

“You can tell me,” Harvey said, his voice kinder than he intended.

“I may have some latent masochistic tendencies.”

“Latent?”

“. . . Obvious masochistic tendencies.”

“Hm.” Harvey leaned back, suddenly unsure of how to handle this development without scaring him off.

As he considered, Harold looked at him and laughed. “Let me guess, you’ve got sadistic tendencies to match.”

“Surprised?”

“It’s utterly unexpected for a notoriously ruthless corporate lawyer.”

Harvey snorted before murmuring, “So tell me what you want.”

“Anything?”

“Go for it.”

“Honestly?” Harold tilted his head, pondering. “I want you to bite me.”

Harvey stared at him, stunned once again.

“Too much?”

“You’re an angel,” Harvey growled before diving back towards him.

* * *

Just past midnight, Mike and Jonathan finished their work, ran the code on the old data, and retrieved their results. Just as Jonathan claimed, the algorithm predicted that all three companies would surge in value, even without inside information.

“Wow-" a yawn cut Mike’s first attempt at speaking off. “That was an _experience_.”

“Yeah . . .” Jonathan sounded sheepish. “I never thought not commenting my code would hurt this badly.”

“We’ve all been there.” Mike clapped a hand on his back. “Anyway, the underlying algorithm is genius _._ ”

“You know,” Jonathan said, “no one else has ever really understood my work, barring a couple professors from college. Then you come along and you understand it in a couple hours flat, well enough to actually explain how this functions to the SEC.”

Mike grinned at him. “All in a day’s work. Well, a day and a night. Speaking of which-"

“You have to get going? I do too.”

“Good luck tomorrow,” he said with a wave.

Jonathan’s eyes lingered on him as he headed out.

* * *

 When Mike came home, he found Rachel waiting for him, sorting the different supplies back into neat piles.

“I have questions,” he said, sitting down facing her.

“Lucky for you, I have answers.”

“You’re not a witch,” he stated. “Still, you sense auras and can recognize divination spells. How?”

“There’s witches all over my family tree, on my father’s side. I don’t practice because of my aunt.”

Mike frowned. “I thought she passed away when you were young?”

“She did,” Rachel said, nodding. “Her magic took her over. My dad made me stay away from all of this. But . . . you just _feel_ like a more disciplined caster than my aunt was, and I don’t think you’ll fall down the same hole. I’m not about to let this-” she gestured at the herbs and the box- “scare me off. Now, I understand why you didn’t tell me about this, but don’t keep any more secrets from me, okay?”

Mike grimaced. “I’ve got one more thing to say, then.”

“What?”

“My parents didn’t die in a car accident. They were killed by a vampire.”

Rachel’s face twisted with sympathy.

“I found them,” he finished, voice wavering.

“I’m so sorry, Mike.” She draped an arm around him and pulled him close.

“I used to dream about being a Slayer,” he mumbled into her shoulder.

“I can understand that.”

They spent a quiet minute that way before he remarked, “we should clean all this up and go to sleep.”

“No spells tonight?”

“Nah,” he shrugged. “I was trying to scry Harvey because I thought he was in some kind of trouble last night, but he was fine today.”

“That’s good, he must have worked it out.”

They shared a kiss before locking the supplies in the box and heading to bed.

* * *

_RING_.

“Harold's calling,” Mike announced, glancing at Rachel’s phone.

“Can you get it for me?” she said, hands full as she flipped pancakes on two separate burners.

He clicked “Accept.” “Hey, Harold- you’re on speakerphone with me and Rachel.”

“Cool,” Harold said, voice brighter than Mike had heard it in weeks. “I wanted to give you both the good news!”

“You got a job?”

“No, even better. I got laid by Harvey Specter!”

“What?” Rachel said, even as Mike exclaimed, “How did that happen?”

“Because I am the luckiest man on earth, that’s how! He says he’s also seeing a woman, but she’s fine with us, and he just left for the office, but he wants to see me again!”

Grinning at each other, Mike and Rachel congratulated him until they had to leave themselves. Upon hanging up, she gave Mike a teasing smile. “What was that about a bad personality match?”

“I see it a bit more now, okay?” Mike said in mock-protest. “I mean, Harvey’s sweeter than he looks, and Harold’s sharper than he looks. It’s not the strangest couple in the world.”

“It’s predictable,” Rachel said, equally straight-faced.

Then they burst out laughing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To any programming geeks who groaned at the references to trading databases, sorry? At least this story has no 32.5% software overlaps. So far.

**Author's Note:**

> For purposes of fighting this fic war, we focus only on ships involving at least one Suits character. We define "rareship" as "a ship involving at least one Suits character that isn't Darvey or Marvey." We label any poly ship that includes Darvey and/or Marvey as "kind of a rareship, maybe." This is all very precise and scientific, as you can tell.
> 
> We consider ships that require no Suits characters to be outside the purview of the fic war. We will probably include Buffy ships, but we don't consider those particularly relevant to the core "battle" . . . unless they're standing in the way of one of our tropes.


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